Page 19 of The Wexley Inn
“Oh, in its heyday, this place was the go-to spot for what they call ‘discreet luxury,’” Luella said, using air quotes. “Politicians, business magnates, even some Hollywood types. They came because they could relax here without all the usual fuss. Island residents have always been respectful of people’s privacy. Well, until we got the Lowcountry Ladies Club. Those ladies don’t respect anybody’s privacy. I suspect Vivian Pierce has been keeping a close eye on how much time Thomas’s truck spends parked here. That woman’s got a nose for gossip sharper than a bloodhound’s.”
Thomas chuckled under his breath.
Another lightning flash and thunderclap - this one so loud it made Isabella jump. Seconds later, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into gray dimness, relieved only by the candles Luella had lit.
"Right on schedule," Luella said, not sounding the least bit surprised. "Island power's about as reliable as a chocolate teapot. I’d better check my backup generator. Thomas, there are more candles in that kitchen drawer if you need them.”
As Luella walked out to go to her cottage, clutching a small flashlight, Isabella and Thomas were left alone in the candlelit parlor. The sudden intimacy of the setting was unmistakable, shadows dancing on the walls and rain creating a private cocoon of sound.
Thomas cleared his throat. “You know, Luella is always prepared.”
“I see that,” Isabella said, taking a sip of her water. “She’s been invaluable, giving me all of her knowledge of the inn and its operations.”
“Luella sees everything that happens on this island," Thomas said. "Always has. She probably knows more about island secrets than the rest of us combined. Sometimes I think she's just waiting for folks to figure out what she already knows."
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows. Isabella couldn’t suppress another small start of surprise.
"Still don't like storms much, do you?" Thomas said gently, and Isabella realized he'd remembered this detail about her from so many years ago. The recognition in his voice was oddly comforting.
She smiled slightly. “Childhood thing. We had this huge old oak tree fall on our house during a storm when I was eight years old. No one got hurt, but the sound… I guess I’ve never quite forgotten it.”
Thomas nodded. “That’s legitimate fear then, not irrational at all.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I’m a grown woman now. I shouldn’t still be jumping every time I hear thunder.”
"Fear doesn't always listen to logic," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Sometimes it just settles into your bones and stays there, reminding you what you can't afford to lose. You know, after Sarah, my wife, was diagnosed, I developed this paralyzing fear of hospitals, not for myself, but for Emma. Every doctor's appointment, every mention of not feeling well, and I'd be right back in that oncology waiting room, watching Sarah fade away and knowing I couldn't fix it.”
The personal confession surprised Isabella. He’d been so professional since they’d begun working together and rarely offered glimpses of his private thoughts or feelings.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” Isabella said quietly. “That must have been really hard for both you and Emma. I can’t even imagine.”
He looked down at his plate. "It was. Sarah fought for seven years, from when Emma was six until she was thirteen. Those were hard years, watching Sarah decline while trying to keep things normal for Emma. By the end, I was doing most of the parenting while Sarah was in and out of hospitals. Emma was old enough to understand what was happening, but too young to really process losing her mother."
Against her better judgment, Isabella couldn’t help but ask the question. “How did you move forward from something like that?”
“One day at a time,” Thomas said. “You know, you just have to focus on what’s in front of you. And Emma needed me to be steady. My clients needed their projects completed, and the business needed someone to direct it. Having a purpose helped; it took my mind off it. I still had my moments, though.”
Isabella nodded. When her own brief marriage had ended, she’d thrown herself into her career with such an intensity that she started having panic attacks. But work had always been her anchor during personal storms.
Another lightning flash lit up Thomas’s face. The strong lines and the kind eyes that once looked at her with so much love now carried a mix of hard-earned wisdom and guarded emotion. For a brief moment, Isabella let herself wonder how different their lives might have been if he hadn’t ended things so suddenly all those years ago, for reasons she still didn’t understand.
The question that had been in Isabella’s mind for years must have shone on her face because Thomas’s expression became questioning.
“Isabella—”
There was a sudden crash from upstairs that shattered the moment. It was the distinctive sound of something very heavy falling to the ground.
“That came from the third floor,” Isabella said, already up on her feet.
Thomas grabbed one of the candles. “It’s probably just the temporary support in the bathroom. Maybe the storm shifted something.”
They ran upstairs, Thomas leading the way with the candle, casting shadows ahead of them. The old staircase creaked beneath their feet as the storm’s fury became more pronounced on the upper floors, where the wind whistled through small gaps in the window frames.
In the third-floor bathroom, they found the source of the noise. A section of the ceiling had given way, dumping water, plaster, and insulation onto the floor. Rain poured through the new opening, already creating a puddle on the wooden floorboards.
“Oh gosh, we need to contain this before it damages the floor,” Thomas said. “There are tarps in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, I’ll start cleaning up what I can,” Isabella said, looking around for something to collect all the debris.
